


The Tree House

by izzygone



Series: The Tree House [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Underage, Frottage, M/M, Teenage Arthur, Underage - Freeform, based in the US, medical kink (sorta), wee Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Don't you want to play our game?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tree House

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for my September 2014 prompt-a-thon for the prompt: **_Teenage Arthur taking advantage of (seriously) younger Merlin_**
> 
> Special thanks to [Dragonzombie333](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonzombie333) for tolerating my ridiculous hours, strange kinks and lack of work ethic.
> 
> **IMPORTANT WARNINGS: Merlin is 9 in this story, Arthur is 13, so warnings for extreme underage and dub con because underage = cannot consent. Plus Arthur is kinda a manipulative mofo in this. Non-con warning added by request. If you are triggered by child sexual abuse, please do not read any further.**

“Come _on_ , Merlin,” Arthur yelled down from the treehouse, “Before Morgana comes!”

Halfway up the ladder, Merlin had a determined look on his face. The treehouse was high off the ground, and he wasn’t so brave as Arthur, but he didn’t want anyone else to know that. He tried not to look down. He could see Morgana down there, debating whether or not it was worth it to chase him up. After a glance down her dress, apparently she decided it was not, “As if I wanted to come into your stupid treehouse!” she yelled instead before trotting off.

Merlin sighed, glad not to feel rushed anymore, except Arthur did not seem to get the memo, “Hurry up, Merlin, or I’ll shut you out too!” That made Merlin scramble, and up the ladder he went in a hurry.

Panting from the effort, he collapsed on the floor as Arthur slammed the trap door behind him, tying the latch with some rope he kept for that purpose. Arthur laughed, seeing Merlin exhausted against the bare wood. “I’m sure I was never as small or as weak as you,” he sneered, taking a seat against the wall next to the smaller boy, “Even when _I_ was 9.” Merlin turned his lip down in a pout, and Arthur continued, “Maybe by the time _you’re_ finally 13, you’ll be as strong as me. But I’ll be 17 by then, and won’t want to play with you anymore anyway,” he ended with a sigh.

Merlin’s pout turned into a cry then, and he began gently sobbing. Arthur reached forward, tugging the younger boy backward into his arms, “Hush, don’t cry, Merlin. I’m not 17 yet, I still want to play with you.”

Merlin’s sobs slowed, turning into hiccupped breaths, “Really?”

“‘Course I do, why’d you think I invited you up instead of Morgana?” He was smiling, and his golden hair was falling in front of his eyes. Merlin reached up and pushed the strands out of the way, revealing Arthur’s bright, wide blue eyes. Arthur just grinned, “Come on, give me a hug.” Merlin shifted, turning around and burying his face in Arthur’s neck. The older boy ran his hand soothingly over Merlin’s back, hushing him all the while. Finally, he pushed back, looking at Merlin’s tear streaked face, “You love me, don’t you, Merlin?” Merlin nodded firmly and enthusiastically, “Tell me,” Arthur commanded, serious, smiling fading.

“I love you, Arthur,” Merlin choked out, “I love you more than anybody.”

Arthur grinned back at him, “‘Course you do, and I love you too. Want to play our game?”

Merlin looked away, turning red and shy.

“Come on,” Arthur teased, “Do you want to play our game? I’ll only play if you want to.” He bumped Merlin’s shoulder with his own, “I know you like to play.”

Finally, Merlin nodded, conceding.

“Okay,” Arthur said, excited and as happy as Merlin had ever seen him. That was the only reason he played the game -- to see Arthur look at him like this, “Take your shirt off.” Merlin was still shy and he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt. Arthur nudged him again, “Don’t you want to play?” Merlin nodded, but still fiddled, “I’ll take mine off first, if you want.” And he did, in a single swift motion that made Merlin a little dizzy. “Come on,” Arthur whispered now, grabbing at the bottom of Merlin’s shirt, “I’ll help you.” He pulled the shirt off fast, causing Merlin to squeak and Arthur hushed him, “Lie down.” Merlin slid out of Arthur’s hands, back to lie on the floor where he’d been before the crying, “I’m going to give you a physical.”

Arthur crawled over to him, looking down seriously. Merlin took deep breaths, his hiccups nearly gone now but occasionally coming suddenly, causing his chest to jump. Arthur put his hands on him, prodding gently at the skin on Merlin’s chest, the spaces between his ribs, the hollow at the base of his throat, hands flicking at Merlin’s tiny nipples, making them raise and hurt just a little. “Cough, Merlin,” he ordered, and Merlin did as he was told. Arthur made a small thoughtful _hmm_ sound and continued his prodding. He moved to Merlin’s legs, inspecting where his ankles were hidden by socks, then his calves, exposed already by his loose shorts, then up and up, touching skin where he could and the cloth of the shorts when necessary. Merlin was still the whole time, afraid of breathing too loud, moving or somehow making Arthur think he was sick. He didn’t want to have to have treatment like Arthur did.

Because Arthur _was_ sick. Merlin discovered once during a physical not long ago that Arthur was hard in places he shouldn’t be, and since then, Merlin had had to give him treatment.

Satisfied, Arthur grinned, “Okay, Merlin, you’re healthy!” Merlin propped himself back up on his elbows, smiling, too. “Do you want to do me now?” Merlin looked away again, embarrassed, and Arthur nudged him, “It’s okay if you do, I like playing the game with you, too.”

Merlin nodded, sitting up and pushing a hand against Arthur’s chest, and Arthur went willingly to lie on his back, smiling the whole time. Merlin crawled over to him, nervously reaching his hands out to touch Arthur’s chest. He ran his fingers over Arthur’s nipples, tugging at them gently like Arthur did to him as part of his physical. He counted Arthur’s ribs to make sure he hadn’t lost one. He put his hand in front of Arthur’s mouth to make sure he was still breathing. Arthur laughed and asked if his chest is okay, and Merlin nodded. Next he shifted down, checking Arthur’s bare ankles (how he made it up the ladder to the tree house in just sandals, Merlin will never know), then tapped Arthur’s knees and watched the bounce, ran his hands up and over Arthur’s pant covered thighs, too, until he finally reached the source of Arthur’s sickness.

There, at the juncture of Arthur’s thighs, was a hard lump that had grown the past three times they played Doctor. Merlin kept thinking maybe they’ll fix it, but the treatment only seems to last so long. “You’re still sick.” he said, sadly.

Arthur frowned, “I guess the treatment didn’t work last time. Maybe we should try again.”

Merlin grimaced. He liked helping Arthur, but he wasn’t _really_ a doctor. He was just pretending for the game, and Arthur needed a professional.

“I might _die_ if I’m left like this, Merlin.”

That spurred Merlin into action, and he climbed over to straddle Arthur’s hips, “Are you ready?”

Arthur nodded, waiting, so Merlin started to move. He shimmied back and forth, rubbing himself against the lump. Arthur sighed, relieved, “Yeah, yeah, I think it’s working.” Merlin kept going, speeding up the movement of his thighs, trying to rotate his body in circles like Arthur said felt best. He started to get tired after a minute, but he knew the treatment wouldn’t take very long, so he forced himself to keep going. Arthur’s hips bucked, and he made pleading noises. “Merlin, please,” he gasped, and Merlin flushed with pride, knowing his treatment was working. He kept going, his whole body shaking with effort and Arthur gripping his hips, clenching his teeth.

“Merlin, _shit_ ,” Arthur cursed, arching his back. Merlin stopped moving. Arthur only cursed when the treatment was successful. The front of Arthur’s jeans were wet and he was breathing heavy. He pulled Merlin flat down against him, “I think you fixed me.” Merlin buried himself back in Arthur’s neck, and the older boy smoothed his hair down, whispering “You’re so good to me. You’re such a good boy.”

Without really knowing why, Merlin started to sob again, and Arthur hushed him gently, soothing, “It’s okay, shhhh, it’s okay, I’m all better now. You made me better.”


End file.
